When we Anglos think of the Holy City, we envision these drivers as part of the character, the spirit, the fabric of the place 

A Taxi Tale from Avraham Shusteris...

I

was traveling from Beit Shemesh to Gedera to visit my grandmother at the geriatric rehabilitation hospital. My driver was young and energetic, a secular twenty-something named Hagay. He was beaming when he picked me up. He had just brought his brand-new taxi – his baby – back from the carwash.

“What do you think about this?” he asked me. “A dream, no?”

To us spoiled Americans, it was a regular taxi, but to him it was his pride and joy.

“Most people hate their jobs, but I love mine,” he continued. “There’s nothing like driving through Eretz Yisrael, feeling the wind blow against your arm and watching the beauty of the land surrounding you.”

On the way back from the hospital, I asked Hagay if he had ever heard of the Kever of Dan ben Yaakov, as I was told it was somewhere near Beit Shemesh. He nodded and said that he had been there before. Twenty minutes later, Hagay stopped the car—he had brought me to the kever. He took a kippah out of his pocket and passed me a Tehillim from his glove compartment. We stayed at the kever for about 15 minutes, during which at least six or seven people stopped to schmooze with Hagay – he was obviously a regular.

And no, he didn’t charge me for the detour.

Avraham Shusteris is an accountant in Ramat Beit Shemesh. He made aliyah from Monsey with his family in 2018.

A Taxi Tale from Boaz Bachrach...

I’d never skipped night seder before, so I was hesitant to accept my friend’s invitation to get together —but it was my chavrusa from high school, and he was in Israel for only one week... and he was staying at the Waldorf. In the end I gave in, but I was nervous the entire evening, and once we said goodbye I wanted to get back to yeshiva as soon as possible. Luckily, I’m not the first anxious-looking yeshiva guy who needs a ride from the Waldorf, and soon I was in the back of a taxi, heading out into traffic... before I could even tell the driver where to go. Normally I would be pretty chill with that, but we were on the meter and I only had about 50 shekel in my pocket, so I felt the need to confidently assert myself.

“Umm...” I started in my perfect Anglo-Hebrew, “Ani adayin—”

Before I could finish my sentence, he cut me off—a skill perfected over years of driving in Israel—assuring me, “Yes, yes, you are going to the chutznik yeshiva.”

Ohmygosh, he's going to take me to Romema and it's going to cost 60 shekel and I'm going to get kicked out of yeshiva – or worse, miss my spot in line for the washing machine.

I kept trying to give him directions, until he finally confirmed the address with me. I was uneasy until we finally pulled up in front of my yeshiva. He did know where I was going. I was shocked – it isn’t visible from the street, it's hidden by the building in front of it, so to find it, you have to really know where you're going. But not only did he find it, he pulled right up to the kitchen door, the one on the bottom floor no one uses except when they sneak in during night seder. At this point, I just had to ask him how on earth he knew where to go.

"Well," he said, "every night for the past two weeks I've had to pick up some chutznik from the lobby at the hotel and take him here, so I figured all the chutznikim from the Waldorf go here."

Of course, that night, one of my friends from yeshiva got engaged. At his vort the next night, I casually asked the chosson where he'd been going out.

"You're not going to believe this," he said, "but I've actually been sneaking out during night seder to go to the Waldorf lobby..."

Boaz Bachrach is a student at Ohr Hachaim—Lander College for Men in Queens, New York.